by June Ahern
“My housekeeper took him to the vet. He hasn’t been well lately.”
“He’s not sick,” she blurted out, adding, “I mean, not in his body.”
Dr. Weissman peered at her, tapping his finger to his chin. “Hmm,” he said under his breath.
She knew he was analyzing her. She became more agitated, sensing that the doctor was staring at her with his coke bottle glasses. Perturbed he might think he was in control, she decided to show him her powers.
“Simon’s sad. He misses his girlfriend.” She sat down on the ottoman. “Was he crying a lot?” Her eyes were closed and she stroked her arm as though she was holding the cat.
Dr. Weissman affirmed that Simon had been meowing more than usual, but it was the cat’s lack of interest in eating that worried him. He chuckled at June’s comment. “With all of Simon’s meowing, he hasn’t mentioned he was lonely.”
Her eyes popped open. “Sassy,” she said suddenly.
“No, June. I’m only telling you why Simon went to the vet.”
She sighed and questioned him further. “Simon’s girlfriend was Sassy, right?”
“Oh! Classy Cat! That was her name.”
June cringed. She didn’t like being wrong with her psychic information, especially now. She wanted to impress the doctor.
“She died just about a year ago today. How did you know about her?” he asked, his face showing a surprised interest.
“Simon told me telepathically a while ago. Do you think I’m nuts?” she said, testing him.
Dr. Weissman leaned forward, put both hands on the coffee table and pushed aside the half eaten box of candy. “I think you are a most interesting young lady with true psychic abilities,” he said intently.
Intuiting he was telling the truth, she felt pleased by his genuine interest and his acceptance of her extrasensory abilities. Without further hesitation, she shared her history. She vividly recounted the life of reproof and ridicule firmly imprinted in her memory bank. Her words, like a monsoon, scattered across the table and pelted the doctor. Her earliest memory was at the age of three when she had a great fear that her ill sister would die. She was still haunted over Helen’s death. “Was it my fault?” June wailed.
Without stopping for a breath, she told him about the years of anguish she endured for being labeled a misfit by her father and her religious instructors unkindness. They had unleashed in her an inner fury she knew was destroying her spirit. How could she heal? She wanted the doctor’s answer, but bitterness over being betrayed kept her from asking. She recalled how Sister St. Pius had cruelly humiliated her and threatened her with burning in hell. The nun had frightened her so very much. She still feared that maybe she truly was a bad girl, as her father and the nuns had declared her to be.
Dr. Weisman sat still and listened.
June railed on. At home, her father mocked her name, which made her mad. Still, she sought his acceptance and didn’t discuss the things that would upset him––like learning the tarot from Mrs. G and talking to the spirits of dead people. She desperately wanted him to love her. “But he doesn’t,” she cried. Secrets had become a way of life. When do I speak the truth? she wondered.
Hollow from purging her grievances, she paused to gulp in air like a drowning person fighting for life. Her breathing soon settled to a natural rhythm and a small happy smile touched her lips.
“I’ve always got my sisters to help me,” she said. “They like my tarot readings, except for Annie. They usually don’t make a big deal about my angel’s messages either. Besides them, there’s my best friends, the Callaghans. We all stick together.”
She pulled up her legs to sit crossed-legged on the ottoman and continued, “My real first friend was Mrs. G. She saw me for who I really am.” As she talked, her voice became lighter with happiness. “Mrs. G was like a genie granting my wish to understand how magic works. She taught me it was okay to see and hear what others didn’t. Our souls were connected. We were spirit sisters.”
She touched her heart as she recalled her memories of life on Market Street. Some stories she weaved into a colorful rainbow of images, which brought forth laughter that ricocheted around the doctor’s living room. Dr. Weissman joined in, clapping his hands at the fairy stories. She then recounted the death of her old friend. It was a time filled with such wretched loneliness.
“I kept it inside how sad I was because no one seemed to care as much as I did when she died,” June said sadly. Then a sly smile spread across her face. “Mrs. G would speak to me after she died, especially at night, outside.”
Finally, June said her angel sent another understanding person, Sister Noel, who helped make Catholic school bearable while encouraging June’s psychic abilities. She felt Sister was a kindred soul because she had also suffered parents who disbelieved her powers. Sadly, she said she and Sister Noel were separated.
“I lost her too, for a long time, ‘til she came to help me in the nut house. We still talk sometimes. She can’t phone too often since it’s a long distance call.”
She explained to Dr. Weissman that it was those two women who had the most positive influence on her psychic path. Nonetheless, she still felt odd and outside the normal.
The doctor didn’t think June was odd. He was intrigued with the girl’s extrasensory talents. “The vision about the young man who drowned, tell me when it first came to you.”
“It was when we lived on Market Street. My sisters and I were in the bathtub. I had an image of a man floating in the ocean. So I made up a game. I would be the drowned man and Mary would be his wife. Maggie was their baby and Annie was supposed to be the fisherman who pulled the body out of the water. Only she wouldn’t play the part. It was strange because when I was under the water in the tub, I felt like I was really dead. It was so peaceful. Then my mother came into the bathroom and got angry at our game. I think it scared her because she thought I was dead and my sisters didn’t try to help me.”
She paused to see if the doctor had anything to ask. He didn’t.
“I had a fight with my mother this morning because I said I didn’t want to be a Catholic anymore,” she said.
The years of spiritual loneliness, the death of Mrs. G and the terrible separation from Sister Noel had led to the decision. At fourteen, June had become blazingly angry and wanted to separate from the offending parties. She saw her mother as a main culprit.
“She doesn’t care if I’m happy,” June complained. “She let me talk about my angel, then she told me to stop lying about it. She wouldn’t protect me from the nuns or my father. My father said I was a pagan baby. I always felt like an outsider in my family. It was my mother’s fault for giving me a heathen’s name.” She stopped and said softly, “I loved her so much. But she always turned away and hid in bed, pretending to be sick.”
Even though she hadn’t expected to reveal her fears and hopes so candidly, Dr. Weissman’s calm presence allowed for her to do so safely; and since he didn’t judge her, she felt free to be herself. It’s part of my cleansing, she assured herself when she collected her pocketbook and jacket.
As she was leaving, the doctor suggested her mother come to the next session to resolve their differences. June readily agreed, trusting it would be beneficial for both of them.
June sat on the ottoman and gently stroked Simon. She didn’t look at her mother. As the session went on, no matter how much she ran her fingers through the cat’s fur, she couldn’t rid herself of the anger she felt toward Cathy. June wasn’t so upset by her mother’s complaints about Jimmy’s harsh strictness with her sisters. She was disturbed by the details of her romantic first encounter with Malcolm at the train station.
Cathy’s eyes and voice softened dreamily as she described how he had to bend low to kiss her. She was short and he was so tall. “His kisses were very soft and sweet. It was the beginning of our love affair, as short as it was to be,” Cathy said, her voice low.
In utter shock at what she had just heard, June stared with ange
r at her mother. Cathy saw June’s expression, stopped talking and looked away.
A silent space enveloped the room.
June’s fiery rage made her want to strike out at her mother. Her body catapulted from the ottoman, causing Simon to yowl in protest at being flung from her lap. She clenched her hands into tight fists and her face flushed as red as her hair. With a strangled yelp, she stormed to the picture window and focused on the vastness of the view.
A gusty March wind agitated the bay, churning the water steely gray. A flurry of erratic waves tossed around on the water. It was devoid of any boats. Only the seagulls circled, flying low. Her mood was as turbulent as the small waves tossing around. She tried to calm her stormy mood.
“June, what are you feeling?” Dr. Weissman asked the sulking teen.
She glanced back toward the doctor when he called her name and saw her mother huddled in her chair like a naughty child. Puffing out hot breaths, June decided to prolong her response, deriving pleasure from her mother’s uneasiness. Let her simmer in her guilt, she decided.
Cathy squirmed in the chair. The leather protested and sucked at her dress as she shifted, separating the material from her sweating body. She cast her eyes down and away from June’s scorching look boring into her. She had prayed that telling June her story about Malcolm would make her daughter understand her visions. Instead, her fear of being rejected seemed to be coming true.
Dr. Weissman had warned Cathy that healing such a painful past would be a messy affair. He explained healing one’s psyche is like a pot burnt from overcooking that must be scrubbed cleaned. The grimy guck floating to the top is the shame, guilt, and hurt that would have to be released. He assured her no matter how difficult and unpleasant it is at first, clear water will eventually appear. The clear water represents freedom from mental and emotional pain. It is part of the healing process necessary if the subconscious mind is to become whole and healthy again.
Cathy’s nervous fingers kneaded the small tin frame she held partially hidden in her hands. She sneaked furtive glances at June and awaited the clearing.
A bleating foghorn broke June’s single-minded thought of hoping that her mother was as miserable as she was. Finally, she said, “She was having sex with him without being married.”
“June!” Cathy exclaimed.
“My vision was right! It did happen. Why did you have Daddy smack me? Remember when I showed you the magazine picture of a man and woman kissing? Why did you deny it? Why?” June demanded, stamping her foot.
Cathy answered slowly, “I was afraid. I wanted to leave the past alone, like Granny B said was best to do.”
She looked at her mother mutinously. “So, I had to suffer? I had to take all the punishment because you wanted everyone to see you as a holy Catholic and not a fallen woman?” She used a term Jimmy had flung at Maggie.
She plopped back down on the ottoman. “You brought this on me. All of it,” she accused her mother.
“I was married to Malcolm,” Cathy’s said defensively, her lips quivering.
“Would you like to say more about that?” Dr. Weissman said encouragingly.
“Before Malcolm left London we had a hand-fasting ceremony. We took wedding vows holding hands. We laced a red ribbon around our hands to bind us to our vows.”
“Bet you made that up so you could live in sin,” June said, hissing the last word. Without waiting for an answer, she told her mother, “You haven’t been in a state of grace with the Church for years. You shouldn’t have taken communion.”
June knew receiving Holy Communion was only for Catholics who had been to confession and were absolved of sin. This meant they were in a state of grace and ready to receive the communion host.
With a frown, Cathy dismissed June’s accusation. “It’s a real marriage contract. From the old ways. That’s what couples did.”
“Old ways? Like pagan religion? You did pagan things?” June asked accusingly.
“Not at first. But I knew that my choice to be with Malcolm meant I could no longer practice my own religion. So I learned his family’s ways and rituals from his mother, Eilidth, when I lived with her in Skye. I needed some form of religion in my life.”
“You made me a pagan! It’s all your fault. First giving me a heathen pagan name Daddy always hated, then sending me telepathic pagan thoughts. You’re a wicked witch!” June denounced her mother cruelly.
In vain, Cathy attempted to defend herself. She said, “We didn’t call ourselves witches.” Eilidth had warned her about the consequences of using the word witch when practicing the old ways, even in Skye. She explained, “We just practiced the old ways, the pagan ways. After all, pagan only means people of the earth…”
A fierce wind banged against the large window startling them. They looked over and saw a lone black bird perilously close. It flew away.
“You sound angry with your mother,” Dr. Weissman said calmly.
Of course, she was angry. But, like the lone bird, she felt frightened and unable to control the turbulence of her stormy moods.
“Mom, you ruined my life,” June said in frustration. She covered her eyes and her small shoulders heaved with her sobs.
“What do you need from your mother?” he asked gently.
June said severely, “She’s got to stop lying to me. No more secrets.”
Dr. Weissman looked at Cathy.
Looking abashed, Cathy agreed, “No more secrets.” Holding forth the small picture frame, she asked meekly, “Can I show her this now?”
Dr. Weissman asked June if she wanted to know more about her mother’s life with Malcolm.
Without looking at her mother, June held out a hand to accept the frame. In it was a black-and-white photo of her mother as a young woman and a handsome man with classic features and a full head of curly hair. He had on a Naval uniform.
“That’s him!” she said triumphantly as she wiped away tears on the sleeve of her sweater. She quickly described the vision she had in the hospital of the man who drowned.
Cathy confirmed June’s vision. As unbelievable as it was, Malcolm’s body had indeed washed ashore back home to Skye.
Hoping the muck would soon disappear, Cathy tried to explain. “Malcolm was finally coming home for a visit when his ship was torpedoed. Many of the sailors drowned in the Irish Sea. That’s where the German U-boats hid to attack our ships. Lots of bodies washed up on the other isles further south of Skye. But I believe my strong love for Malcolm brought him home to me. I think his spirit heard me calling him. You see I used sit on top of a hilltop overlooking the sea, waiting for his return. When the weather became nicer, especially in late May and June, I’d make daisy chains. You always liked those kinds of flowers, remember?”
“You lived on Skye? Oh, what’s the use asking,” June said. “I can’t get the truth from you.” She paused for a moment before declaring, “I’m really a visionary, not a bad person. Not a loony. Only that’s how I’m seen, like a crazy witch. A bad Catholic, like her.” She pointed an accusatory finger at her mother and tossed the picture frame onto the coffee table.
“Do you think your mother decided your fate or can your fate be thought of as your destiny?” Dr. Weissman asked.
“What’s the difference? Look how bad my life’s been because of all the lies and secrets,” June said, turning sour again.
“To me, they are like two sides of a coin,” the doctor explained. “One side is destiny, which I see as optimistic. The other side of the coin is fate, which I think of as pessimistic. It’s like a prophetic declaration of what must be and what cannot be changed. My theory is, when we are born we have a predetermined path of where our life is going, which is destiny. But it’s up to you to decide how to get there. You decide when to stay on your path, or when to leave it in your own way and time. Fate, on the other hand, is when you think there’s no control over what happens and you have no free will. Which is it for you, June? Are you ready to have control of your life?”
�
�Dunno,” she replied patting her lap to Simon.
“It sounds like you feel you’re connected to your mother’s life in a subconscious way. Would you like to learn how to separate from her past?” the doctor asked.
“Doctor, are you saying that children might be linked to their parents through more than just inheriting their genes, like eye coloring?” Cathy asked. “Do you think they can inherit our past experiences, too?”
“That’s an interesting hypothesis. A psychiatrist named Carl Jung had a theory on how the collective unconsciousness is the great circle that links all living things. And Albert Einstein talked about parallel worlds. The longer I live the more I learn there’s more than what meets the eye. But let’s discuss this next week. In the meantime, the rule is, no more blaming or accusing if you talk further about what you have learned here today. Agreed?” Dr. Weissman asked to the two.
Cathy agreed easily, June reluctantly. They gathered up their coats and purses. Neither spoke as they left.
Not a word passed between mother and daughter during the short elevator ride downstairs. As the door rolled open, June dashed outside and away from her mother.
The ground rumbled and a bell clanged loudly, announcing the cable car. They watched the cable car appear over the top of the hill through the misty light rain. It shuddered to a stop, shaking from its effort to climb the steep San Francisco hills. They climbed aboard. Cathy tightened her scarf to protect her hair against the increasing rainfall. She was wary of how they would fare on the ride home.
Cathy glanced at her daughter slouching on the wooden bench. Her red beret, tipped to one side of her head, was perfectly angled. Her daughter’s profile, with its small, straight nose and full pouting lips, reminded Cathy of herself many years ago when she, too, had spunk. She shivered as a gust of wind raced up her skirt. She wished they had sat inside the cable car, but June had chosen the outside seat. Cathy said nothing, not wanting to add more tension to the situation.
A strong wind blew open June’s unbuttoned pea coat. She pulled it tightly around her chest. She looked down at the passing road and saw raindrops dribbling down her mother’s nylon-clad legs, while her own legs were kept dry by her pants. A stab of guilt pricked at her for choosing to sit outside.
